


Ineffable

by Nemainofthewater



Series: Rip Week 2019 [5]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe, Angels and Demons, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Flirting, Good Omens fusion, Not-So-Accidental Marriage, Rip Week 2019, RipFic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 21:10:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19384720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: Rip and Gideon over 6000 years.





	Ineffable

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Rip Appreciation Week-Day 4: Ship Rip.

In the beginning (with a small b: the Beginning with a capital letter was a whole other kettle of fish) there was a garden. And an angel. And a demon. The humans had just been ejected from the Garden for what Gideon thought was a load of fuss about nothing. But what did she know? The Higher Ups, whether Divine or Occult were notoriously tight-lipped when it came to their Operatives on Earth.

 

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon,” she said to the angel, smoothly changing out of her anguine form.

 

“Pardon?” the Angel said, giving a start. He evidentially hadn’t heard her approach, something that gave her a deep sense of satisfaction. He was a scruffy little thing: his shining white uniform was rumpled as if he had just got out of bed, although indeed neither bed nor the concept of sleep had been invented yet. His hair, a sandy, reddish colour, stuck up all over although that might have been more to do with the fact he was repeatedly running his hands through it rather than any inherent spikiness of the strands themselves.

 

“I said,” Gideon repeated, “That went down like a lead balloon.”

 

The angel gave a bitter laugh.

 

“Yes,” he said, “Yes it did, rather. What did you say to them anyway?”

 

Gideon shrugged.

 

“Miranda was literally created from Jonah’s rib,” she said, “Created as nothing more than an extension of his will. She deserved better.”

 

The angel hesitated.

 

“Perhaps,” he said, “But it’s. It’s all part of the Great Plan. We are guardians of the Multiverse: we can’t just shirk our duties!”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Gideon said, “I’m a demon. I tempt. That’s what I do.”

 

“And I was supposed to thwart,” the angel said miserably.

 

“Buck up,” Gideon said, not unsympathetically, “You said it yourself. Part of the plan. It’s ineffable-”

 

She paused.

 

“I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced,” she said, “I’m Gideon.”

 

The angel blushed furiously.

 

“…” he mumbled.

 

“I’m sorry?” Gideon said, “I don’t think I caught that.”

 

“Mihael,” the angel said more loudly.

 

Gideon blinked.

 

“What, like the Archangel?” she said.

 

“No,” Mihael muttered, “Mihael. It means God our helpful father. There’s no ‘c’.”

 

“Not very helpful if you ask me,” Gideon remarked, “Doesn’t it get a bit confusing up there during Celestial roll call and all that?”

 

Mihael glared at her, and then realised what he was doing, collapsing in on himself with a muttered “sorry”. For a celestial warrior, created out of divine energy and wrath, he was doing a remarkable impression of a kicked puppy.

 

“Well,” Gideon said bracingly, “You could always change it!”

 

“…change my name?” he said, “The name that our Divine Father gave me?”

 

“It was only a thought,” Gideon said.

 

“Hmm,” Mihael said.

 

Gideon shrugged. There was no helping some people. Suddenly she squinted into the distance.

 

“Wait, is that your flaming sword?”

 

#

 

“Is there really any point to this Mihael?” Gideon asked, “I’ll tempt him, you’ll grant him divine ecstasy or whatever you lot do, and then we’ll be back at square one.”

 

“That’s not the point,” Mihael said. At some point over the last centuries, he had gained a long, brown cloak. It was, Gideon had to admit, no unattractive, but there was still something missing. A je ne sais quoi.

 

“What is the point then?”

 

“The whole point is that’s ineffable! Just because we appear to be at a standstill, doesn’t mean that I should just shirk my duties,” Mihael said. He was holding on to his sword, conspicuously human and definitely not flaming.

 

“I’m not saying anything of the sort,” Gideon said, “You’re so uptight angel-”

 

“Celestial beings cannot be uptight!”

 

“-what I was proposing was that we divide and conquer. You can take Arthur, I’ll take Mordred and we can share Lancelot and Guinevere. That way we can both report a success to our sides.”

 

“…you’re trying to tempt me,” Mihael said, “And, foul demon, it’s not going to work.”

 

“Foul demon?” She probably should be offended-although she was a demon, having not Fallen so much as Sauntered Vaguely Downward millennia ago, she was much better groomed than Mihael and the unkept feather dusters he called wings. On the other hand, he was incredibly cute even when he was being a self-righteous wanker.

 

Mihael flushed, bright red creeping up his neck. Gideon approved, and promptly wondered how often she could get him to blush like that.

 

“Sorry,” he said, “Got a little caught up in the moment. Nonetheless, we can’t. I won’t- I won’t be a party to such a thing.”

 

Gideon shrugged. She didn’t really understand his loyalty to Heaven: they were a bunch of manipulative arseholes, make no mistake, and the Archangel Druce was the worst of the bunch. Not that Hell was any better: on days she had to make in-person reports to head office she really did wish that she’d hung out with a better grade of people.

 

“Worth a shot,” she said, “Now, shall we get back down to business?”

 

“Business?” Mihael asked. He then glanced around: at the stands filled with shouting townsfolk, at the richly clad noblemen looking down in boredom, at King Arthur who caught him staring and made an impatient motion of: ‘get on with it!’

 

Gideon raised her sword: “En guarde!” And off they went.

 

#

 

“I knew I’d wear you down eventually,” Gideon said.

 

Mihael scowled: “There’s no need to rub it in,” he said.

 

“No, no,” Gideon said, “There really is. Just let me savour this moment.”

 

She paused dramatically and took a deep breathe…only to promptly start coughing as the odour of unwashed humans and horses pervaded her senses.

 

“Ok,” she said, waving her hands in front of her face in a desperate attempt to get rid of the smells, “Moment’s over.”

 

Mihael rolled his eyes, and there was a sudden sweet smell of lilacs in front of her, masking the stench.

 

“Thanks, much obliged,” Gideon said.

 

“Well it wouldn’t do for you to keel over quite yet,” Mihael replied, “Not when we’ve only just come to an Arrangement.”

 

“Admit it,” Gideon said, “You like me.”

 

Mihael blinked in honest confusion, and Gideon felt her heart pound. Which was ridiculous as she technically shouldn’t even have a heart.

 

“Of course I like you,” he said, “I mean… we work on different sides, yes, but that’s really just the job. I’ve always liked you.”

 

“Oh,” said Gideon, valiantly trying to batter down a blush of her own.

 

“In any case,” Mihael continued, oblivious as ever, “It would be murder trying to break in another demon at this point. They just wouldn’t understand.”

 

“Oh. Of course,” Gideon said. She coughed and said: “Nice coat by the way. Very…brown. And swishy. It suits you.”

 

Mihael twirled, making the long, brown, trench coat swirl dramatically around his legs: “Yes, it is rather, isn’t it?” he said, “Very swishy.”

 

“Where did you get it?” Gideon asked, desperately trying to keep the conversation going.

 

“About fifty years ago. Popped over to the Wild West to do a few miracles. I managed to procure this coat from a rather lovely woman in one of those saloons. Very friendly. Invited me back to her room after I got robbed and offered me some new clothes. Made a great cup of tea. Lovely girl.”

 

“I bet she was,” Gideon muttered. Sometimes the angel’s obliviousness bordered on the ridiculousness.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“I said, very polite people over there.”

 

Mihael nodded in agreement.

 

“I er…” he trailed off bashfully, “I actually took your advice.”

 

Gideon blinked.

 

“You blessed all the beer in the taverns?” she said.

 

“What? No! The other bit of advice you gave me. About changing my name.”

 

After a couple of minutes of frantically patting down his pockets he eventually withdrew a battered piece of paper and handed it over to Gideon.”

 

RIP J. HUNTER

PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR

 

“Rip?” Gideon asked.

 

“You don’t like it?” Mihael, no, Rip asked anxiously.

 

“No, no. I think it suits you,” she said, “Very…intimidating. What does the J stand for?”

 

“Well, er. Jonah actually.”

 

“Oh,” said Gideon. Rip had always been close to Miranda and Jonah in the Garden, trailing after them and enthusiastically chattering about how wonderful everything was. She rather thought that both of them would have been willing to get to know him…biblically. Not that he had noticed. In any case, he had been devastated when they were cast out of the Garden.

 

“Well,” she said, “I think that’s a wonderful name.”

 

#

 

“Table for Mr and Mrs Hunter?”

 

“Oh, we’re not married,” Rip said immediately. Gideon immediately dug her elbow into his side, hitting his bony ribs with a solid thwack.

 

“...unless we are?”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Gideon said to the Maître d’, “We only just got married, you know how it is. It feels like it’s not quite real yet.”

 

“Oh of course, of course,” the Maître d’ said, evidentially deciding to leave it alone. “Well, your table is ready.”

 

Following the gentleman to their table, Rip leant in close and hissed: “Why did you say we were married?” into Gideon’s ear.

 

“Because we are _darling_ ,” Gideon replied, jerking her head to indicate that the Maître d’ was clearly still listening in. Rip didn’t notice. Frowning, Gideon blinked and a moment later the crêpes Suzette that were being served at one of the nearby tables had blazed into a large, albeit tasty inferno, sending patrons screaming back. The Maître d’ swore, pretended he hadn’t done any such thing, and then hurried off for damage control.

 

“Well, only that once in the third century,” he said, “And how were we to know that anyone entering that temple would be automatically married?”

 

“Don’t forget Rome, 1487,” Gideon said.

 

“Oh yes. Pope Innocent VII. I forget dear, were the Crusades your side or mine?”

 

“Blessed if I know,” Gideon said, “But the fact remains that a marriage officiated by the Pope definitely counts.”

 

“Regardless,” Rip said, “That doesn’t explain why you told the restaurant that we were married!”

 

“Why do I do anything, angel?” Gideon said, leaning close, “Because the face you make is hilarious!”

 

Rip stared at her, wide-eyed, and Gideon couldn’t help herself. She pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

 

“Whaaa-?”

 

“Just selling the ruse,” Gideon murmured.

 

#

 

“This is getting ridiculous,” Rip said.

 

“I don’t know dearest,” Gideon said, “It is pretty funny. Vegas marriages, I got a commendation for those.”

 

“By my count, we have been married eight times. Eight!”

 

“Nine,” Gideon said, “You keep forgetting the handfasting in Tibet last year.”

 

“That only proves my point,” Rip said, “Why does this keep happening to us?”

 

“Why does anything happen?” Gideon asked, “It’s ineffable. That’s all there is to it.”

 

“If my side finds out that I’ve married a demon eight times-”

 

“Nine.”

 

“-then they’re probably going to recall me to head office! I’ll be reprimanded. I’ll spend the rest of my days overseeing the cherubs and let me tell you those little blighters are _vicious_. Always making suggestive comments around me.”

 

“You don’t say,” Gideon said, “I’m surprised that you noticed.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rip said.

 

“It means,” Gideon said, crawling back into bed, “That at least seven of those marriages weren’t accidents.”

 

Perhaps not her finest work, but it was getting to the point where anything short of an elephant and a giant parade complete with fifty back-up singers screaming ‘I’m in love with you, notice me before we literally explode from unresolved sexual tension’ was probably going to be misconstrued. And even then, Rip would probably think it was an ethnic festival of some sort.

 

“Oh?” Rip said.

 

Gideon nuzzled close to him and stared into his eyes defiantly.

 

“ _Oh!_ ”

 

After that there wasn’t much talking for a very long period of time.

 

#  
  


“You know it’s coming,” Gideon said, “The end of times. The final battle. The Great Plan.”

 

Rip studiously tore his bread into ever smaller pieces, carefully dispersing it across the river so that every duck got a fair share of the loot.

 

“Perhaps,” he said.

 

“I’ve heard rumblings Downstairs,” Gideon said, “It’s going to be soon. Very soon. The Antichrist will be born, and the world will end on her eleventh birthday.”

 

Rip sighed. “I don’t like it any more than you do,” he said, “But there’s nothing we can do to stop it. It’s the Great Plan. It’s ineffable.”

 

“You’d just go along with it?” Gideon said, “The armies of Heaven against the Hordes of Hell? With Earth as the battlefield?”

 

“What choice do I have?” Rip asked wretchedly, “I’m an angel. I’m not like you Gideon, I’m not-”

 

“A demon?” she said softly.

 

Rip looked away.

 

“I was going to say brave,” he said.

 

“But you are, Rip. You’re so much more than the good little soldier Heaven wants you to be. Please. Help me.”

 

“I. I can’t.”

 

Gideon stood, trembling.

 

“After all this time?” she said, “You know that it’s wrong. You know that Humanity doesn’t deserve to be destroyed for a stupid, eons-old grudge. And if you don’t, then you haven’t changed as much as I though _Mihael_.”

 

“Gideon,” Rip said, also standing. He held his arms out to her, beseeching: “Please.”

 

“Come find me when you grow a backbone,” she said and, though it was the hardest thing she had ever had to do, harder than falling, harder than surviving Hell, harder than the years of desperate pining: she walked away.

 

#

 

“What do you mean you’re holding the Antichrist?” Rip hissed, looking down at the deceptively innocent looking child in the basket. She had a little fuzz of blonde hair on top of her head and wide, curious eyes.

 

“Didn’t you hear what I said, angel?” she hissed back, shifting her weight form side to side anxiously. Being out in the open like this had her jittery: she had no doubt that the infernal eyes of hell would find out about the ‘baby swap’ sooner or later, and she wanted to be somewhere safe, preferably under the metric ton of wards that protected Rip’s office, before that happened.

 

Rip sighed. There was something incredibly fond in his eyes.

 

“Accidental baby acquisition was it?” he asked, “No, don’t answer. I need to maintain at least a little plausible deniability. Well,” he opened the door wide, “You’d best come in.”

**Author's Note:**

> The Antichrist is Sara! Also Mihael is a real angel and is the angel of fidelity and marriage, which alongside the Mihael/Michael joke seemed too good to pass up.  
> I am on Tumblr as [Nemainofthewater ](https://nemainofthewater.tumblr.com)


End file.
